I heard on a podcast that our country affords an open door to cranks. Folks who make up reality according to their Gut. The Gut is not based on logic nor science. It is based on feelings, both good and bad. Are there really two or more points of view on verifiable facts? Is the Gut feeling of hate as important as Christ’s admonition to love each other as he has loved us? Some folks are convinced that Earth is flat. Now this mystery was laid to rest a long time ago.

Truth is mistaken for what sells. If enough people like Gut Feeling pronouncements, do we have a new truth? If a leader says a lie often enough, is it transformed by alchemy into the truth? Can we make coal into diamonds by force of will?

A peculiar change occurred many years ago when newscasters’ opinions became news. When I began watching the CBS Evening News, Walter Cronkite was 15 minutes long. It was a big deal when it expanded to 30 minutes per evening. Once a week, a newscaster would offer under five minutes of opinion, and it was labeled as such. In these Gut Science days, Opinion is the new gospel.

We were simple people in Eldorado. We studied reading, writing, and arithmetic. There was a Civics class. The established truth of American life was an anchor for our conduct. We respected our elders. We said please and thank you. Making fun of others’ disabilities or personality was verboten. We were on the journey together. The road was clear. Gut Feelings were unreliable. Anger, hurt, animosity, and pain were mixed into the actions of Gut Feelings. We were the beneficiaries of the Civil Rights movement. We saw the wrong and suffering wrought on our African American brothers and sisters. President Johnson, a man raised in Texas and exposed to prejudice all of his life, enacted more Civil Rights legislation than any President before or since.

We have more information than ever and less wisdom. Neva J used to say, ‘Say aint and shaint and let the snot fly.’ Indeed, this has become the philosophy of the day. America for Americans, some tell us. Ask them where they came from. Women reporters are spoken to in a brusque, offensive manner, and no man in the crowd will stand up and say not in my presence. I suppose this is all the product of Gut Science. Hate, venom, cruelty, and bullying are now the accepted norm. Freedom and self-actualization are not a product of Gut Feelings.

It is a chilly, rainy day. I love it! My kind of weather. Cool weather suits me. Rain is soothing to the soul. Good nap weather. A good day to pause and reflect. A time to remember who you are. A time for a sense of place.

Southern Illinois is a place of wide vistas, hills, and valleys. A glacier stopped in Carbondale. We are not flat like much of Illinois. A region of hamlets, villages, and small towns. I told a colleague years ago that we men of Southern Illinois all carry a pocket knife. We played outside as kids until the street lights came on. No internet, no cell phones, three stations on the TV, and two of them were snowy. We made our own fun, and being a single child, I especially did so. Having a BB Gun was a big deal. Ralphie understood this in A Christmas Story. The Orpheum was miraculous, and the Pool Hall was mysterious. Everyone reads books. Neva J read a book or two a month. She belonged to the book-of-the-month club. We enjoyed our music on vinyl records. I belonged to the Columbia Record Club.

Our eyes have gotten heavy. What passed for insurrection and crimes has grown passe. Once we backed out, the police and those who are paid to protect us. Now we free police beaters and soon will give them money for their trouble. We pledged allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all. We placed our hands over our hearts. It was a big deal. We believed what our President told us. Fifty thousand men died in Vietnam.

Congress took its job seriously. I watched the entire Watergate hearings, which were televised. The telecast was fascinating. Both political parties agreed that President Nixon had to go. We were awake!

We enjoy the freedoms that we fought and died for. The United States was the beacon of freedom for the world. The oppressed of nations came to us for succor and sanctuary. It seems funny to be bypassed by China. Not funny ha ha…funny strange.

When we wanted to look up something, we went to the dictionary or the World Book Encyclopedia. Knowledge was not quick; it was researched. No AI to write our school papers. Ralphie received a C+ for his Red Ryder BB Gun Thesis, but it was all his. University taught me the miracle of thinking for myself. Never take at face value what a leader is telling you. Why are they saying what they are saying? Who gains by their pronouncements, who loses?

MJ and I drove through torrential rain yesterday on the way to St. Louis. It had been a while. I did not enjoy driving in hard rain when I was younger, when it seemed many of our trips to Tennessee involved it, and I still don’t enjoy the downpour when you can’t see where you are going. A bit like life. There are times when it is almost impossible to see your path. I felt as capable as my youthful torrential navigation; I was no longer sure of my ability. As we segue into the Golden Years, we become more careful. We have seen rain before. We have been soaked. We caught the sniffles. I walked the Campus in my favorite wool sports coat in such rain that I was wet through. The wool smelled like a wet lamb.

We need the rain; we say we want the rain; then, when it comes, we want the rain to quit. We do not like to be wet. Warm, dry, and happy we seek. But the rain makes us grow. This is what we are told. Neva J often asked,’ Will the rain hurt the rhubarb?’ I wondered what rhubarb was.

In my working years, I dreaded heavy, continuous rain. Many of the Campus buildings leaked. Some flooded badly. A little rain was welcome, and a little more was not. So it goes when the rain will not stop. Farmers need rain, not floods.

We, humans, need our spirits refreshed. Rain from Heaven stirs our hearts and gives us strength to continue. Have you ever heard the scripture read dryly? Have you ever heard the word of God read with a little rain from Heaven sprinkled on it? There is a big difference.

Most of life, we walk by faith and not by sight…but then there are those moments of rain, and our path becomes clear when the sun comes out.

It is a summer day in spring. Time to acclimate. May is shuffling along. June through August is my acquired taste. September is my favorite time of year. I loved to swim as a boy. Fond memories of Pounds Hollow throughout the summer. In retirement, I have learned to love all four seasons. I do not have the luxury of being a respecter of one above another. Summer is a perfect time for the Writing Porch. Mylo has taken to accompanying me each day. He hears another dog bark, and he returns the greeting. He is too short to see the dog, but he knows he is there.

In my halcyon days, Sunday was Movie Day. I joined the movie at 2:00 and did not leave until 8:00. The theatre was a sanctuary for an introvert. Dennis and I would take a break to walk to Dairy Queen to buy the old gentleman who took the tickets a pack of Marlboros. While we were there, we bought a pack for ourselves. We also purchased a bag of barbecued potato chips each to mask the smell of the cigarettes as we walked down the train tracks, smoking them as fast as we could. Ten cigarettes each was a tall order and required a lot of puffing.

The Brooks Memorial Day Cookout is in the works. Aaron is the Chef. I once was the Chef, but Aaron’s skills surpass mine. I like the charcoal outdoor cooking. It provides an unsurpassed flavor.

The rhythms of life and a sense of place are comforting. It has been a week of service providers. First the plumber, then the fiber-optic installation, and lastly the DirecTV man. Each requires focus to ensure the issues are addressed.

‘I heard that Pounds Hollow is closed until further notice due to sighting of the Creature From The Black Lagoon,’ Chet said. ‘We must investigate to see if our friend the Creature is being misunderstood,’ Chet continued. ‘At first appearance, he gives a shock, but once you know him, he is a kind, compassionate Fish Man,’ Chet laughed. ‘Creature likes to stay to himself, he is an introvert and a bit shy,’ Chet observed. ‘He was an only child and spent his time in the Orpheum Theatre, where he wore a disguise so he did not scare the other kids,’ Chet winked. ‘One Christmas, he dressed up as Santa Claus and passed out gifts to the children to their great delight, Chet remembered with some joy. ‘The Creature is cognizant of his different appearance and that some do not take the time to know him,’ Chet said quietly.

‘I have a lot to offer if anyone would ask,’ the Creature said. ‘I considered getting plastic surgery, but a friend told me to be proud of who I am,’ the Creature said, smiling. ‘We do not all look alike nor do we need to,’ the Creature said. ‘For instance, I have gills…not everyone has gills,’ the Creature laughed. ‘I am a people lover and a good time guy,’ the Creature danced and sang. ‘I have never hurt a minnow,’ Creature winked. ‘I must enjoy the summer air at the Hollow without fear of rejection or marginalization,’ Creature said with a clap of his webed hands. ‘You will tell the kids that I am alright and have lived among them for a long time,’ Creature assured.

Climb on, get on a horse, it is great fun, The Boy said. ‘I was afraid of the Carousel until I rode on it,’ the Boy continued. ‘You go round and round, and the scene becomes blurry,’ the Boy laughed. ‘
At first, you can see mom and dad, and then they fade into the Technicolor picture swirling as you pass, the Boy observed. ‘I don’t know if it is the cotton candy or the funnel cake, but soon you are transported to another world,’ the Boy winked. ‘There are clowns both smiling and frowning,’ the Boy said. ‘Once you get on, you do not get off,’ the Boy observed tentatively.

‘I saw Superman and Batman when I first got on the Carousel, Chet observed. ‘Now I see villains and protectors,’ Chet continued. ‘There is Snidely Whiplash and Dudley DoRight and Tess Trueheart,’ Chet laughed. ‘Many of the Carousle riders are constantly reaching for the Gold Coin but rarely procuring it,’ Chet noted. ‘Some on the Carousle have taken the bench seats where thinking is easier and less stomach churning,’ Chet observed.

‘I see beautiful vistas from my Carousel Pony,’ Jane said. ‘The Earth is green and then burned by the sun,’ Jane continued. ‘The animals are happy, but many are hungry and sick,’ Jane said with tears in her eyes. ‘I asked the Carny to stop the Carousel and let me off, but he grinned a gape-toothed smile and kept running it,’ Jane said. ‘The Carny told me that I did not want to get off due to not being able to get back on,’ Jane said softly.

‘At first, the Carousel was fun,’ Neva J said. ‘Then I saw the homeless, the forgotten sitting next to the whirling machine,’ Neva J observed. ‘There was no one feeding them or caring for them, and when I tried to throw them some peanuts, they could not catch them due to the speed of the Carousel, Neva J sighed. ‘What a terrible method of time travel we have invented, where the needy are left at the side of the conveyance and can not climb aboard,’ Neva J observed.

I remember writing three blogs last Saturday when I was home alone. Mylo was with me. Today is cloudy. Last Saturday was sunny. MJ Aaron and Jonathon had a grand time in Paducah. Mylo and the Old Man spent their time on the Writing Porch/Cigar Bar. The week has gone quickly. They all go quickly.

Time is a bit like swimming in the ocean. We swim forward until the waves push us back. When we lift our wet heads to look around, we are unmoored by time. Is the shoreline behind us, or is that ahead? So we redouble our efforts to attain shore. Everything looks the same. Perhaps we should float for a while.

Our internal compass is searching for due north. It frantically turns. The swimmer ponders whether it is nature or nurture. When did we begin swimming in the Ocean? This morning or many mornings ago? We have a destination, but the Ocean is vast. The Swimmer hears his mother’s call…’ Come home, it is supper time.’ Mother has been gone for some time. Jonathon and Aaron open the Christmas gifts. Their faces are radiant with joy. MJ is lovely in any light.

An Island is before us in the Ocean. Swimming is tiring work. Time for a short rest. The Old Man greets us on the Island. He offers a Dirty Martini. What a nice surprise.

‘Where are you headed?’ the Old Man asks. ‘I saw you with my binoculars,’ the Old Man continued. ‘I admire your ability to float. I often floated when I was a lad,’ the Old Man winked. ‘I would float so far from shore that the people on the beach looked like ants,’ the Old Man laughed. ‘One of your friends is here,’ the Old Man smiled.

‘I swam out yesterday,’ Chet said. ‘It seemed especially long since I did not recall when I got into the water,’ Chet grinned. ‘I tried your floating technique, Chet explained. ‘I heard Dad call out to me, but he has been dead since we were kids in Eldorado,’ Chet said quietly. ‘What year is it?’ Chet chuckled. ‘You know, come to think of it, I think I have been on this island for more than a day,’ Chet mused. ‘I can not remember when I arrived,’ Chet continued. ‘All I am sure of is the Old Man makes a grand Dirty Martini, and he seems to know a lot about me,’ Chet laughed and asked for another Dirty Goose.

‘I see you have found the Island,’ Neva J said. ‘I love to swim as you and Chet remember, but the Ocean is confusing,’ Neva J continued. ‘When I first dipped my toe in the cold water, I was a girl. Then I looked around, and I was middle-aged. ‘Now, now, I am older than the Old Man,’ Neva J laughed. ‘Have you tried the Old Man’s Merlot? It is the best,’ Neva J did a dance. ‘Dutch told me this would happen…when you begin to swim in the Ocean everything runs together,’ Neva J winked. ‘First you are young, then old and young again,’ Neva J sipped Merlot. ‘We are specks living on a speck that is swimming in a vast Ocean that never quits growing,’ Neva J said as she poured another Merlot.

I prefer the word “unique” instead of the word “weird” when it comes to describing a person. I really don’t think whenever I hear someone say that …

Beverage Choices

The rhythm of our lives. Indeed, it exists. Certain happenings make us feel happy or sad, anxious or depressed. If we are not focused on what our body and brain tell us, we wonder what is going on. Joy comes to each of us, as does pain and suffering. If we deny that reality, we deny ourselves. Being in tune with our environment is a good step.

Thoughts control our actions. Often, the thoughts are irrational or suppositions. Our world is a wonderful place if we relax. Rome was not built in a day. It is best to work on one thing at a time. Spring brings renewal and rejuvenation of spirit. The Serenity Prayer is true,’ God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, Courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’

Time changes things. God knows the number of the hairs of our heads. Quiet helps. The media is wonderful. Media can kill. Moderation is the key. Faith is a reliable garment. I have worn it for 58 years. It never leaves me.

The Old Man was convinced he had a Guardian Angel. He had seen GA out of the corner of his eye a few times. Ga treasures his anonymity. In times of trouble, GA has come to the front. Now and again, the Old Man forgot GA was there. GA never forgets. GA was with the Old Man when he was young, riding in the ambulance; the driver said he did not think the Old Man would make it to the hospital. GA was with the Old Man when he first took a management job at the university and feared he would fail.

Harsh words and bad thoughts cause a bad stomach. ‘In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin, but he that refraineth his lips is wise.’

Behavior change can cause good health. The Carpenter’s Motto is to Measure Twice and Cut Once.’ Most angry words subside when reflected on.

Of late, our political world has afforded much strife. Strife has been placed on a pedestal for admiration. The good guys versus the bad guys. Fun if you are a good guy, not so much if you’re in the bad camp. Many are lost in the battle of the elite. We, Little People, suffer for the wars of the rich. The poor of the land have been left behind. Affordability is no longer a worry since the election is over.

A day made in Heaven. Cool with a nice breeze. A day to wonder at the possibilities. We look for the prophets. Not the self-appointed ones, the God-appointed ones. Many are in the employment line for the job. If you listen, they cite their resume of accomplishments.
Examining the resumes yields different results. We are a bit like a ship at sea, and the waves are high. We need a good sexton.

The Hollow Men are around the corner. Faceless and nameless, they watch our lives. They stand at the top of the hill watching the Theatre of the Macabre. In good times, they are there in bad times, they watch. They have been called ghosts. Slipping in and out of our daily routine, they go unnoticed. A diligent observer catches them out of the corner of their eye.

‘I have been sitting with my sick friend at the hospital,’ Jane said. ‘She said she saw a shadow standing at the foot of her hospital bed last night,’ Jane continued. ‘When she spoke to the shadow, it did not respond,’ Jane explained. ‘My friend wondered if the shadow was an angel,’ Jane noted. ‘She feels better today and appears to be on the mend,’ Jane smiled.

‘Neva J spoke of the Shadow Man, who she said was her brother who went missing from World War II, Chet mentioned. ‘She saw the Shadow Man in the woods with her mother when she was a child,’ Chet continued. ‘There are many reports of Hollow Men or Shadow Men being seen in sundry places and unusual times,’ Chet explained. ‘The ‘Spirit Photograph’ of Mary Todd Lincoln with the faint spectral figure of President Abraham Lincoln standing behind her with his hands on her was later debunked, but many believe it still,’ Chet observed. ‘Why do you think the song Me and My Shadow is so popular?’ Chet laughed. ‘In 1965, there was an episode of the Dick Van Dyke show based on a mysterious shadow which turned out to be President Lincoln’s Shadow,’ Chet said.

‘I saw the Hollow Man,’ Billy B announced. ‘I was distressed about the war in Vietnam and the friends I had lost as I walked the streets of Eldorado,’ Billy B said. ‘I wondered what my future was going to be living in unsettled times,’ Billy B continued. ‘As Neva J and I watched the Cuban Missile Crisis unfold on television, we saw three shadows that looked like men behind President Kennedy as he uttered his ultimatum to Kruschev,’ Billy B said tentatively. ‘We wondered if the TV picture was out of sync as it was the days of the rooftop antenna and snow on the screen,’ Billy B winked. ‘I then recalled turning the corner by the Orpheum Theatre and a Hollow Man stood watching me,’ Billy B whispered.

‘Do you ever feel like someone is watching you?’ Billy B asked. ‘You may be alone, but cannot shake the feeling of being observed,’ Billy B continued. Once I woke in the middle of the night and there was a shadow figure at the foot of my bed,’ Billy B recounted. ‘The Shadow Man was watching me while I slept,’ Billy B said with a shiver. ‘On a separate occasion, I went around a corner, and there was Mr. Shadow Man again,’ Billy B said. It has not been clear what his intentions for me are,’ Billy B noted. ‘He is a man of few words,’ Billy B explained. ‘Once when I was being rushed to the hospital by ambulance, I saw him sitting next to me,’ Billy B said. ‘When I asked him if I would live, he nodded slowly,’ Billy B remembered.

‘Shadow Man was with Grandma A and me in the woods when we were hunting persimmons,’ Neva J recalled. ‘Grandma A spoke to him and watched us from a clearing in the forest,’ Neva J said. ‘Grandma A told me the Shadow Man was Dutch, her son lost in World War II, or what was left of him, Neva J said with tears in her eyes. ‘So my brother has been watching out for his nephew all of these years,’ Neva J whispered.